


Just a Taste

by mistr3ssquickly



Series: Redemption [2]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Bonus recipe at the end!, Fun little character rumination, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 11:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14471985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistr3ssquickly/pseuds/mistr3ssquickly
Summary: Luke and Han spend some time together in their early months as part of the Rebellion.





	Just a Taste

Life with the Rebellion is less exciting than Han expects it to be after his first introduction to them, the daring rescues and close-call firefights replaced with running and hiding and planning, the last of which he doesn’t do, so he spends most of his time working on the _Falcon_ and getting to know Luke and the other pilots better. Their company is surprisingly ... _nice,_ for want of a better word. Better than the isolated companionship he’s grown used to with Chewbacca over the last handful of years.

It doesn’t pay well but it’s a welcome change of pace, has him sticking around far longer than he intended, back when Luke and Leia were little more to him than pains-in-the-ass who were easy on the eyes and the Rebellion amounted to an easy way to make back the credits he owed (owes) Jabba, a decision that he suspects hasn’t gone unnoticed by the others, Wedge especially eyeing him with amused suspicion whenever they’re around each other for more than a few hours at a time.

“Still with us, huh?” Wedge says by way of greeting one afternoon when Han is loitering around the mess for lack of anything else to do, playing a solitairy hand of sabacc to keep his brain from sneaking out his ears to go find something interesting to entertain it.

“For now,” Han answers.

Wedge sits. “Deal me in,” he says, nodding to the cards in Han’s hands, and Han’s more than happy to oblige him. “Surprised you decided to stay on,” Wedge continues as Han shuffles. “The way you were acting when you first landed at Yavin IV, it sounded like you were planning to pick up and go, first chance you got.”

Han snorts and deals out two hands, steadfastly keeping his eyes on his cards, not looking over at the table across the room where Luke and Leia are sitting together, talking in low tones, his nerves always less frazzled when he’s got both of them where he can see them. “Yeah, well,” he says. “Got no love for the Empire, and you guys looked like you could use some help, so.”

Wedge has narrowed his eyes at Han when Han makes his play and looks up to see why Wedge isn’t taking his turn. “Sure you weren’t just hoping to make a name for yourself?” he says when Han frowns at him and says _what?_

“Already did that, didn't I?” Han says.

Wedge snorts, Han’s irreverence towards the medal he was awarded after the debacle with the _Death Star_ something of a running joke among the Rebels who were there to see him receive it. “I’d never heard of you,” Wedge says. _“Or_ the _Millennium Falcon.”_

“Wouldn’t be a very good smuggler if I were _known_ for my smuggling, would I?” Han counters.

“No, but you expected Luke to know who you were,” Wedge says. He nods at the cards. “Your play.”

Han plays one of his cards without looking at it. “Who said I thought the kid should know who I am?”

“Luke did. He asked me if I knew about you, since we’re both from Corellia. He thought you were famous.”

Han gives in this time and looks across the room at Luke, who has, at some point, put his other hand atop Leia’s, the two of them leaving absolutely _no_ room to claim that they’re not sleeping together. Which is fine, doesn’t fly in the face of their desire to be discrete about sleeping with _Han,_ no not at all.

“Luke’s got some weird ideas in his head,” Han concludes, looking back at the cards in his hand. They’re all shit. Probably because he hasn’t been paying attention. Which might’ve been Wedge’s intention in the first place, once he’s thought about it for a second, his brow furrowing as he starts mentally sorting through the cards he’ll need if he’s to win.

“He said you were offended that he’d not heard of you and your ship,” Wedge prompts, once he’s made his play, discarding one of the cards Han had been hoping to get, and Han’s so distracted he doesn’t pick it up, too busy laughing as he shakes his head, the missing pieces coming together for him to paint a hilarious picture.

“Not Luke,” he says when Wedge looks at him like he’s gone crazy. “I didn’t -- I thought the old man was a spicer when I met him 'n Luke on Tatooine. Kenobi. Ben Kenobi, I think his name was. He looked kind’a like a spicer, knew his way around sniffin’ out a pilot, keepin’ a low profile in a crowded room, that sort’a thing. Figured since he looked and acted like he’d been in the business, he’d’ve heard’a me and my ship, might be willing to pay fair price for a chance to take a ride on her.” He reaches for the draw stack, only picking up Wedge’s cast-off card at the last second. “That’s all. I didn’t think some know-nothin’ brat from the Outlands had heard of me, no.”

Wedge winces. “You shouldn’t call Luke that,” he says. “He’s --”

“-- a know-nothin’ brat from the Outlands’a Tatooine,” Han repeats. “Might be a hero to you, and I’ll give you that he’s a damn good pilot, but that doesn’t mean he ain’t what he is or from where he’s from.”

Wedge sighs and draws a card, laying out his winning hand. “Draw and set,” he says. “Another?”

Han glares at him. “Yeah,” he says. “And less distractin’ me this time. Did that on purpose, didn’t you.”

Wedge laughs and doesn’t answer him. But he doesn’t win the next hand, either.

\------

Orders come down for Han to do a supply run to one of the more deeply embedded Rebellion cells two days later, the distance he’ll need to travel far enough that it makes sense for him to be the one to go, the _Falcon_ the best choice for such a haul. Still, he’s not best pleased with the thought of being treated like an errand boy, even _before_ Rieekan takes him aside and “reminds” him not to take any side-jobs along the way, the way he smiles and pats Han’s upper arm as he says it more grating than if he’d been an asshole about it, flat-out. Doesn’t help either that he’s got Luke’s squadron assigned to him instead of just Luke, which means he’s traveling with Chewie for the long stretches between jumps, Luke off flying his X-wing, quiet on the comms, even when Han sets up a private channel, just for the two of them.

He’s still quiet when they land at the drop-off point, surrendering their ships for overhaul, the squadron given orders in the meantime that split them up for the first time since Yavin. Luke’s newfound brothers-in-arms all disperse at the end of a briefing Han doesn’t attend, leaving Luke to cross the hangar and board the _Falcon,_ barely concealing his upset at being separated from the other pilots. It’s pathetic and heartbreaking by equal measure, and Han’s no good at dealing with shit like that, so he leaves Luke to his melancholy, privately pleased when Chewbacca picks up on it and sets about grooming Luke until Luke’s disheveled and distracted, his tone warm with bemused affection when he settles down at Han’s side and says _what was that for?,_ acting annoyed when Han answers _damned if I know,_ even though he's decently certain Luke knows as well as he does what's what.

“Hard to tell with wookiees,” he says, prepping the _Falcon_ for departure to distract himself from the dubious look Luke's giving him. “Best to just let ‘em do what they want and be glad when it’s just grooming, not gettin’ your arms ripped out at the shoulder.”

Which gets a chuckle out of Luke, and that's more than enough to put a smile on Han's face.

They make the jump to hyperspace in companionable silence, the jump list for the rest of their flight long enough that Han’s sick of it before they’ve been in flight more than ten minutes. Luke gets up out of his flight-seat and leaves without a word, and doesn’t come back, leaving Han to get bored in the cockpit by himself. He’s been pacing the corridors, Chewbacca reports when he comes in to take over the helm after a few hours. _Looking like a caged animal,_ is how he puts it, more worried than Han’s seen him in a long time, so Han pats him on the back and promises he’ll check in on the guy, try to cheer him up.

Which he does, sort of, kicking off his boots and lying down next to Luke in the bunk Luke’s chosen to nap in, the feel of Luke’s chest rising and falling in slow, even rhythm under the arm Han drapes over him soothingly hypnotic; a comfort. Might even cheer the kid up, he thinks as he drifts to sleep, not waking up alone. Won’t be the same as waking up in the barracks with the others or in his beloved princess's arms, but.

The next thirty standard hours go by very, very slowly, broken into agonizingly boring four-hour shifts at the helm, sleep losing its appeal both for Luke and Han after Han’s second shift. Luke paces until Han tells him to cut it out, meditates in the galley until he’s queasy with it, mumbling thanks when Han spots him looking green and brings him a pouch of water to drink. He sits in the cockpit after that, watching the blur of hyperspace streak the stars around them, quiet in a way that Han has no interest in interrupting, his usual impulse to regale Luke with some of his better stories suffocated before they’ve little more than flickered through his thoughts, keeping his mouth shut as they fly.

They land in one of the smaller cities on the rim planet Uitstel as per the orders Han accepted, back when Luke still had a personality and he didn’t feel like he’d aged twenty years overnight, the spaceport dark and grimy but warm, at least, a promising band of sunlight stretched across the ramp leading out to the city itself. It’s been years since he last had any reason to visit Uitstel, years hot and smoky with escalating aggression from the Empire across the galaxy, but the city they’ve landed in bears none of the signs of war Han’s come to expect in his travels, the shops and homes all decently well-maintained, no weapons overtly visible on any of the sentients they pass on the street, no furtive looks or defensive behaviors among the milling crowds in the marketplace spread out beyond the edge of the spaceport, the noise and sound welcome, invigorating.

And the effect it has on Luke is _more_ than welcome, his hair fluffing ridiculously in the mid-afternoon heat, reacting with its usual enthusiasm to air that isn’t dry as a bone from being recycled on the _Falcon_ or his X-wing, or baked under the twin suns of his homeworld. He keeps pace at Han’s side, not speaking but looking around with interest, the tension he’s carried since he was separated from his beloved princess and his squadron of pilots falling away like dust carried off in the breeze.

They’ve walked almost to the edge of the market proper when Luke’s entire _being_ lights up, giving Han half a second’s chance to open his mouth on a question before Luke goes darting off, the excitable brat he was when Han first met him surfacing like he’s been in a coma over the past two days, a walking corpse haunting the corridors of the _Falcon._ An unremarkable stall selling some kind of roasted plant seems to have caught his attention, Han sighing and shaking his head as he moves through the crowd, watching quietly as Luke pays for his snack, practically beaming as he turns to look at Han.

“These were my _favorite_ when I was a child,” he says, spearing a toothpick into the flesh of one of the pods and turning it once, the sunlight catching the faint fuzz of the plant’s skin. “I thought maybe they only grew on Tatooine.” He pops one into his mouth, sighing as he chews like he’s well on his way to having an orgasm over the flavor, then holds out the cup to Han. “Want one?”

And it’s just too much, the pure, simple _joy_ of Luke’s happiness, the fresh, warm air of late afternoon curling around them, the stolen moment of peace they’ve stumbled into after the months of running and fighting and hiding. Han’s heart is busy doing odd things in his chest as he leans in and kisses the flavor off of Luke’s mouth, tasting the rich tang of the plant under the aggressive rush of spices, Luke’s surprise seasoning the kiss better than anything else ever could, amusement and affection rising up through Han’s skin as he straightens, grinning down at the flustered blonde beside him.

“Um,” Luke says. He looks around, then holds out the cup once again. “I meant -- do you want to eat one of these?”

Han laughs at him, can’t help it, and Luke doesn’t take offense at it, for once. “Sure,” he says, spearing one of the pods and popping it into his mouth. “Thanks.”

Luke _beams_ at him. “I hope you like it,” he says. “They’re a little milder than I’m used to but -- are you okay?”

Han is _not_ okay. His mouth is on fire, the sensation growing worse each time he chews. He swallows what’s in his mouth because it’s all he can think to do to get rid of it, and that just spreads the burning from his mouth into his throat, tears actually pooling in his eyes when he coughs.

“Forgot you’re from Tatooine,” he wheezes while Luke stares at him, and pulls a rag out of his pocket to wipe his mouth, decently certain he isn’t smearing engine grease on himself in the process. “Food’s spicy there.”

Luke looks down at the cup in his hand, then back at Han, frowning. “This is spicy to you?”

“That’s gonna be spicy to _any_ sentient, kid,” Han tells him. He coughs again, and his throat objects immediately. “C’mon, need to find somethin’ to put this fire out.”

His eyes are still watering, but he can see well enough to tell that Luke’s looking at him like he’s about to start apologizing, which is stupid, so Han slings an arm around his shoulders and drags him off down the main stretch of road before he can get a word out, looking and listening for anything that might be a pub that might sell something cold that’ll help tone down the chemical reactions rioting from his lips to his chest. Luke’s clothes are warm from the afternoon sun, and he goes back to eating his beloved snack after only a few seconds, his face barely even flushed when Han steals a peek at him.

He looks _happy_ when he sits down across from Han in the first roadhouse Han finds, doesn’t hesitate to sit with his back to the door and look around with all his usual naive curiosity on full display, but he looks so content about the whole thing that Han lets him, figures he can watch the guy’s back well enough for one afternoon, save the lessons on how _not_ to get killed traveling the galaxy for another time. His lips are bright pink, probably from the spices on the succulents, maybe a little swollen, and he licks them from time to time, which isn’t helping, so Han orders two cream-based drinks instead of just one, waving away Luke’s objections when he starts in with Wedge’s usual _we shouldn’t drink when we’re on assignment_ bullshit, taking a long pull from his drink once it's been delivered to him, sighing as the cream and crushed ice soothe the damage Luke’s homeworld has indirectly caused him _this_ time.

“It’ll be out’a your system in no time,” he says when Luke watches him but doesn’t taste the drink in front of him, for all that it’s _good,_ just the right balance of sweet and tangy, maybe a little light on the rum but not enough to ruin the experience. “Ain’t even all that strong.”

Luke gives him a look he _had_ to’ve learned from Leia, but he takes an obedient sip of his drink, his eyes going wide as he swallows. “That’s _strong,”_ he says. “And sweet.” Another sip. “I like it, I think.”

Han snorts. “You _think,”_ he repeats. “There’s a rave review. What’d you drink back home, engine fuel?”

“I didn’t,” Luke says.

“Didn’t what?”

“Drink.” Luke looks at him and laughs. “What?”

“Tryin’ to imagine spendin’ time sober on Tatooine,” Han says, not even _trying_ to pull the look off his face that’s got Luke so amused. “Not havin’ much luck. Your folks religious or something?”

Luke shakes his head. “Not especially. My uncle drank sometimes, but not very often.” A shrug. “It’s not like drinking is all that safe when you’re working in the heat, or trying to stay warm after sunset.”

“Got a point there, I guess,” Han says, “but still.”

He takes a long drink from his glass, nods at the cup of succulents Luke’s not quite emptied. “Eat one’a those and chase it with a mouthful of your drink,” he says. “Should be good that way.”

Luke does as he’s told, nodding politely afterwards, but his bluffing skills are shit and Han laughs at him for it, shaking his head _no_ when Luke offers him another one of his godawful treats.

“Enjoy ‘em,” he says. “Might be a while before you get someplace that sells them, again.”

“Probably,” Luke says. “I was surprised to find them here.”

His tone’s taken on a melancholy edge that Han doesn't like, so he slouches down in his seat and nudges the toe of his boot against Luke's calf. “Plenty’a other spicy foods lurking in every corner of the galaxy,” he says. “Been avoiding 'em for years. I'd be happy to point you at 'em, see if we can find some even _you_ think are too much.”

Luke perks up a little, at that. “Thank you,” he says. “I'd like that.”

Han lifts his glass in a mock toast. “Happy to do it,” he says.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author rambling:  
This story is my answer to my own self-asked question of: “At what point did Han first fall in love with Luke?” And that’s sappy, but ... well, here it is.

Also, my thoughts on fixing Han’s whole “you’ve never heard of me” bullshit in the cantina on Mos Eisley. I don’t think he’s quite as bad at the whole smuggling thing as Lucas wrote him to be. Hope not, anyway.

Also- _also,_ in my newfound tradition of including recipes with my fanfiction, here’s the succulent Luke’s eating. I make mine with a very mild infused oil, so it’s only vaguely spicy. I had in mind for the one he’s eating the level of spiciness you find in traditional Thai cooking. Set your entire _face_ on fire, some of that food will. Good stuff.

\- 1 lb okra (I use frozen), can be whole or sliced  
\- 1 Tbsp [chili infused olive oil](https://www.amazon.com/Drogheria-Alimentari-Quintessence-Pepper-Infused/dp/B00NXN4JAI)  
\- 1/2 tsp salt (I use coarse salt)

\--- Preheat oven to 400*F (204*C).  
\--- If you’re using frozen okra, thaw it in the microwave for a minute or so.  
\--- Toss the okra with the salt and olive oil in a mixing bowl.  
\--- Spread it out evenly on a baking pan. I use a cast iron skillet and it makes the flavor SO much better, mmm.  
\--- Bake 45-50 minutes, or until the okra has started to brown on top

Yum x 10, that is. Oh, and they’re drinking pina coladas there at the end. I didn’t have them getting caught in the rain. ~~Yet.~~ You’re welcome. Except [oops I totally did](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14707922). You're welcome. Again.

Leave me some love if you’ve got some to spare~


End file.
